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Blue


Blue
Who thought up this topic? Oh, that’s right. It was me.  New to the group, it fell to me to pick a word – any word – to blog about.  Out of the blue and out of my mouth came the word “blue”.

Why blue?  It is my third least favourite colour behind orange and yellow.   I have no memorable blue clothing, furniture or vehicles.   

My favourite sports team is the Toronto Blue Jays. The original owners, Labatt’s, hoped people would call them “the Blues,” to promote their beer. But everyone calls them “the Jays.”  There’s a hockey team called the Blues, and another one called the Blue Jackets.  The computer that took on Garry Kasparov was called “Big Blue.”  Is chess a sport?

Blue is supposed to be calming.  The folks who sell paint will tell you that pale blue creates a serene and soothing atmosphere.  Sherwin Williams posted “126 hues of blues” on Pinterest. Pablo Picasso had a blue period. But that’s a different kind of paint.

The word blue is ever-present in pop culture, such as movies, TV shows and music.  Blue Lagoon. Blue Velvet.  Blue Bloods. Hill Street Blues.  Andy Warhol made a movie called “Blue Movie.”  I won’t get into its content.  There are the Moody Blues, Blue Oyster Cult and an entire genre of music called “the blues.”

I can’t back this up with any empirical evidence, but I’m pretty sure that “blue” is used in more song lyrics and titles than any other colour.   Blue Suede Shoes.  Blue Bayou. Blue on Blue.   Last night as I tried to sleep, wracking my brains about how to blog on blue, I couldn’t get Neil Diamond’s “Song Sung Blue” out of my head.  Song. Sung. Blue.  I defy you to get it out of your head now that I’ve put it there.

You can try until you are blue in the face.   

I started to think of blue as an emotion.  But that reminded me of the time my doctor told me I was “just feeling blue” as I sat in her office sobbing, telling her that the medication she prescribed for my clinical depression was having the opposite effect.  I told her I was so sad that my chest ached, and I felt as if I was collapsing into myself, a sucking vortex of pain and despair.  I wished for death.  She told me I would feel better once I saw a robin. Then she held her hand up in my face and bitched on the phone to a friend about missing her Pilates class. 

No. That doesn’t really describe feeling blue – more like seeing red. I am incandescent with rage.

Now, I don’t have a doctor at all and I think that even a bad doctor is better than having no doctor at all.  I turn the air blue with the salty language I use, talking about this predicament. If I ever get a doctor, I hope the office walls are a calming, pale shade of you-know-what.


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